Fiery Friday and Twin Games hits Tradepaperback!
Welcome to another week of Fiery Friday! I'm so excited this week. Twin Games [Book 2 of the Heroes of Silver Springs] has hit paperback! The deets are below along with a special extended excerpt for your reading pleasure. And for your viewing pleasure... Here are your Fiery Friday pics.
Touching him proved quickly not to be the best of ideas. Flames, swift and red hot, bolted into her fingertip, traveled up her arm and burning embers rained through her insides. "You're a firefighter," she murmured softly and let her finger graze down that hard wall of chest, the ridged abs before it reached the waistband of the black jeans he wore. She jerked her hand back, a reflex action of surprise at where she'd nearly touched him, wanted to touch him. Her gaze shot up to his face, and she found him looking down at her, his light gray eyes gone dark with desire.
He caught her hand and, gaze locked with hers, brought it back to rest a half inch above the waistband of his jeans. "Firefighter Jason Graham at your service, ma'am," he said in a feigned accent thick with Southern honey. If he'd been wearing a hat he would've tipped it at her, she thought.
"You aren't a true country boy," she said, and because he wouldn't let go of her finger, she ran the tip over the top of his jeans against his stomach, back and forth, back and forth. She had the satisfaction of feeling that tight stomach contract when he sucked in a breath.
"No ma'am, but I can act like one if it's what you want," he offered, and his lips moved into a mischievous tilt.
"You like to play games, don't you, Jason?"
His lips unfolded into a full-blown smile, and he dropped the country-boy act. "I know I wouldn't mind playing a few games with you."
An alarm sounded in Angelina's head, a warning that she could be getting herself into more than she bargained for. Since she hadn't bargained for anything when she walked into Romantic Illusions, she ignored it. She thought she could use a little fun, deserved it after the stress and problems of the last few months. Feeling bold and just a bit defiant, she let her finger slide beneath the waistband of his jeans and pulled. His foot slipped off the shelf as he came to her. "What kind of game did you have in mind?" she asked, her voice low and seductive.
His hands moved to her waist and he leaned in, stopping only a breath away from her lips. "Something involving silk sheets and lace." His lips brushed hers so faintly she wondered if she really felt them touch. "Or we can be more daring and go for blindfolds and leather."
Her mouth was suddenly too dry to speak. She licked her lips, saw his gaze drop to her mouth and had a split second to remember that they stood in the aisle of a store before he kissed her again. His tongue coaxed her to part her lips then slipped inside, tangling with hers. She heard herself make a low groan and moved her hand to his neck, pulling him closer still to deepen the kiss. All thoughts of right or wrong, of where they were and who could be watching went up in smoke as he devoured her mouth. One of his hands snaked beneath the tail of her shirt, cupping her ass, and she felt his lower body push against her, felt his cock hard and ready through the material of his jeans, of hers. He gave her ass a light squeeze, and she heard a plop just before he broke the kiss.
Angelina opened her eyes, blinked to regain her focus, and looked at him. The man was pure panty wetting perfection and all she could think was bed. She wanted this man in bed.
"You dropped the book." His voice was low, heated, and a bit breathless.
It took a minute for his words to penetrate the fog in her head. The book, she remembered, and stepped back, running a shaky hand through her hair. She glanced down at the book, looked back at him and saw the slow, amused grin unfold on his lips. "I guess it's a good thing it's a paperback," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. Strange, she thought, when nothing else about her felt that way. She looked around, saw that they were alone in the aisle and said a quick, silent prayer of thanks before she bent to pick up the book.
The shrill of an alarm split the quiet atmosphere of the shop, and she jerked upright. She understood when Jason began to fumble with a long, black, box-looking thing that hung off his belt. A radio, she realized as a clipped female voice flowed from its speaker, issuing an address and reason for the call.
Jason listened, responded with an authoritative, "Engine 1 en route," and then secured the radio back on his belt. He stepped to Angelina, cupped her cheek in his large, calloused palm. "If you decide you want to play you can find me at the fire station."
"Jason, let's roll," Dean yelled from the other side of the store.
He grazed his thumb over her lips, flashed her a quick smile. "Don't wait too long, okay?" Before she could answer, he hurried away.
Shaken, horny and unsatisfied, Angelina returned the book to the shelf and left the store.
* * * *
You can do this. You can do this.
Bailey Lamont repeated the words to herself like a mantra as the darkness of the hallway threatened to close in. She gripped the handle of the flashlight she carried so tightly her knuckles began to ache.
Take slow, even breaths. It's just a hallway, and you aren't alone.
No. She wasn't alone. Lieutenant Tripp Barrett and firefighter Ryan Magee were with her. Still, even though she sensed their presence, she felt alone. Her heart raced, pounded painfully against her chest, and she jumped when the radio on her turnout pants squawked.
"900 to 932, how's it going in there?" From his position outside, Captain Dean Wolcott used identifying radio call numbers to converse with the Lieutenant.
"All is quiet and darker than a June bug in here, Cap," the Lieutenant answered through his own radio. "We should be almost to the elevators. Got any word on the power situation?"
"Not yet, L.T. Power Company is working on it."
"How are the accident victims?"
"EMTs have them stabilized and prepared for transport."
Bailey focused her attention on the radio conversation and not the blackness that wanted to smother her. The beam of her flashlight gleamed on metal, and she allowed herself to feel a split-second of relief. Almost over. Almost out.
Outside. She wished she could have stayed outside to work the accident scene rather than assist in the rescue of the trapped people in the elevator. Two cars with two passengers each decided to play demolition derby on the main strip. One of the cars smashed into a power pole connected to the main grid and took them both down, plunging the street into darkness. Not that it was all that dark outside, she mused and longed for the sunshine and open space of the afternoon. Because inside the Sparkling Waters Hotel it could have been after midnight and one wouldn't know the difference.
She stopped in front of the first elevator, the Lieutenant on her right and Ryan Magee on her left. She startled again when Magee set the heavy box of tools he carried down on the marble floor.
"Bit jumpy today, Lamont?" Ryan asked, and she didn't need light to hear the mix of amusement and mocking in his tone.
Ryan Magee ragged her. As the only female firefighter on B shift, she expected it to a point. But he stayed on her case more than the other guys. All because she refused to sleep with him. How childish, she thought. As an ex-Navy SEAL with a body that proved it, he thought himself God's gift to women. Bailey couldn't wait for the day when a woman proved him otherwise.
"You okay, Lamont?" the Lieutenant asked in his concerned Texas drawl.
No. I'm not okay. I want to get the hell out of here. Why is it I always get stuck on the rescue team when an elevator goes on the blink?
The words, the complaint, were on the tip of her tongue, but she said none of it. She'd done this once before with the Lieutenant, pulled a trapped victim from a stalled elevator. She'd made it through that time. She could do it again. She would do it again.
"I'm fine," she snapped. Uneasiness and irritation added a sharp edge to her voice that she couldn't hide. "How many people and which elevator are they in?"
"Dispatch reported three—two females and a male—in the first elevator," Tripp answered. "Elevator is lodged between the third and fourth floors."
Magee reached in front of her, tapping the end of the Halligan —a multipurpose tool consisting of a claw, a blade, and a tapered pick used for twisting, punching or prying— on the closed elevator doors. "Hello," he yelled. "Anybody in there?"
"We're here," what sounded to be one male and two female muffled voices answered in unison.
"Fire department. Hang on. We're going to get you out of there."
"Give me some light over here, Lamont," the Lieutenant said as he began to ready the rope they would use to harness the trapped trio and lift them to safety.
Meanwhile, Ryan set to work on the elevator doors, using the Halligan to pry them open. "L.T., we need something to jam between these doors to hold them open in case the power comes back."
"Use the pike pole."
Ryan wedged the tool between the doors, and then stuck his head inside. "Is everybody okay? Anyone hurt?"
"No one's hurt," one of the females answered.
"I'm scared," a small voice said on a sob. "I want my mommy."
Bailey whipped her head around. Alarm rippled through her. "Lieutenant, you didn't say the male is a child."
"I didn't know," the Lieutenant answered, concern in his voice as well.
At that moment, the radio squawked again. "932, you get to the people in that elevator yet?" The Captain's voice rang through the hallway.
Rather than Tripp abandoning his work on the rope, Bailey pulled her radio from her turnouts and answered the Captain. "933 to 900, we're at the elevator preparing to pull them up. There's a child in there, Captain."
"That's what I wanted to know," Dean replied. "I've got his mother out here with me. His sitter should be in that elevator with him. His name is Timmy. I know the boy."
Timmy. Bailey remembered hearing Dean talk of little Timmy Walker. She knew Dean often acted as a surrogate father to the boy, babysitting, taking him to baseball games and the likes. "Tell his mom that he's fine and we're about to get him out," she said into the radio and hoped her voice sounded reassuring rather than betraying the panic she felt building inside her.
"She should be inside there with the kid," Ryan muttered. He spoke low as though to himself but Bailey heard him. "No doubt he's in there because he came looking for her."
"He's with his sitter," Bailey reminded him in a hushed tone. "And you don't know why they're here at the hotel."
"Sure I do. Isn't it obvious? The Mom left the boy with a sitter so she could come here and get a bit of dick. Probably didn't go home last night, and the sitter brought him along to look for her but the mother already left."
Bailey gaped at him. "Do you even know Timmy Walker or his mother?"
"No but I know women like her and—"
"Hey you two, pipe down. This isn't the time or the place to argue. And keep your opinions to yourself, Magee," the Lieutenant added in a terse voice. He finished with the harness and rope and peered though the opening in the doors. "Looks like the elevator is closer to the third floor. You'll have to go down, Lamont. Open the trap door and slide the rest of the way inside."
She would have to go down. The words echoed in Bailey's head until they became an unintelligible roar in her ears. She'd known it was coming, guessed she would be the one to plunge into the dark elevator shaft and down into an even darker metal, nearly airless box with three frightened people inside. She couldn't do this, she thought. Sure, she'd done it before, but that was before the fear returned in full force, before the dreams came back, before...
She tried to shake it off. Still, her blood turned to ice in her veins. Fear was like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach. The beam of the Lieutenant's flashlight shone to the side of her face, illuminating her in a dim ray of white light without blinding her.
"Bailey, are you sure you're okay?" Tripp's voice was low, full of concern, comforting.
He almost never called her by her first name on a call. Hearing it now proved how worried he was. She felt his voice as though it were a tangible thing in the darkness. It moved over her, brought goose pimples to the surface of her skin, as it surround her, hug her tight.
At that moment, she wanted to be hugged tight. Oh, to be in this man's strong and capable arms, to be carried outside as though she were a damsel in distress and he her rescuer. And what the hell was she thinking? This man was a fellow firefighter, her Lieutenant for heaven's sake. She worked too hard, busted her ass, to be seen as one of the guys in the department, as their equal. No way. No fucking way would she screw that up by coming on to her Lieutenant.
She also wouldn't screw it up by showing weakness or fear. With her newly recovered determination serving as a fire extinguisher to snuff out the raging hot wall of panic, Bailey squared her shoulders and met Tripp's gaze head-on in the dim glow of the flashlight. "I said I am fine. Let's get those people out of there."
While probably half the romance world is living it up at the Romantic Times convention this weekend, here's a little something to initiate the fun in our own imaginations.
See ya next week!
